


Dernière Danse

by orphan_account



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/F, Mukuro has Problems, No Explicit Heterosexual Content, Pining, Possessiveness, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sakura and Kenichirou Are A Couple, Sexual Confusion, Spanking, Strap-Ons, The Aoi and Sakura is one-sided, Working Out Trauma Through Sex, commission, throatfucking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:53:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21714877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: This is what it's like to carry a torch. This is burning, falling, too close to the sun.- OR -Sakura has a boyfriend and it's okay. (It's not.)
Relationships: Asahina Aoi/Enoshima Junko, Asahina Aoi/Ikusaba Mukuro, Asahina Aoi/Ogami Sakura, Kenichirou | Kenshiro/Ogami Sakura
Kudos: 29





	Dernière Danse

The first time Mukuro fucks her, Aoi tells herself that it was an accident.

It happens like this: 

They're walking back from strength training. Aoi has her hands in the pockets of her shorts, her jacket's flapping in the wind (the back of it, at least, the part around her waist). Mukuro trudges along beside her with heavy steps. Aoi is laughing at some joke that Mukuro mutters nearly under her breath. _Sure_ , she’s looking at the way Mukuro’s chin is sculpted, and _sure_ she’s catching the freckles that faintly spatter Mukuro’s nose, her cheeks, but Aoi doesn’t say anything _weird_ about it. 

Everyone says that Mukuro is the lesser-looking of the sisters, but she’s _not._ Aoi’s spent countless sessions in strength training with her, and she’s spent too many of those hours looking at the way Mukuro’s muscular abdomen flexes and curls. There’s power in those shoulders. Power in that smile, as shy as it seems. Plus, she’s someone to look at that isn’t Sakura, who’s got a boyfriend, who’s busy, who can’t have those same hair-braiding sleepovers that she used to, not now. Not anymore. Aoi doesn’t think about her too much. 

(That’s a lie. Aoi thinks about her entirely too much. She understands that some people just are _untouchable_ , and Sakura is _straight_ and it hurts, yes, but Aoi isn’t going to go after her, isn’t going to ruin what Sakura has.)

Mukuro is smiling at her and it’s foxlike. Aoi swipes a thumb over her lower lip and smiles back, wiping away some water that’d gathered there and she could _swear_ that Mukuro’s eyes flick to the motion of her thumb, drag along it like hot coals. 

Aoi falters. Her step drags. Her foot catches. Mukuro’s eyes widen. Freckled cheeks spread in a pleased smile.

It happens like this: 

Mukuro stops outside Aoi’s dorm room, cocks her head at the door, and leans against the wall. Her hand settles on Aoi’s shoulder, strong and solid. She’s being so _good_. 

“Who knows?”

Aoi sputters. 

_She can’t mean-_

“Who knows what?” Her voice cracks. It’s pathetic. Aoi swallows hard and squeezes a hand into a fist, the other hand shaking around the key to her dorm room. “Who knows-”   
“About you being…” Mukuro rolls a hand in the air. “You know. _Gay._ ” 

“I’m not-”

“Aoi, please. You look at me about as much as Mahiru does. In about the same way, too.” 

For a moment, Aoi can’t say anything. Mukuro keeps talking, though. 

“It’s alright. You know, there’s no shame in it.”

“In being gay?”

“No. In wanting to get _fucked._ ”

It happens like this: 

Mukuro’s lips on hers, a smile curling into Aoi’s soft mouth. Mukuro has her shorts down. Mukuro is over her, pushing her into the couch, Aoi’s jacket wrapped around her arms, keeping her back arched. Mukuro sucks Aoi’s tongue between her teeth and laughs, bright and oddly happy even though she hasn’t even _fucked_ Aoi yet. She’s going to, though. She’s going to. 

Aoi sucks in a heavy breath when Mukuro’s hands spread broad over her thighs. Pale fingertips dig into the muscle there and Mukuro growl-moans, licking along her teeth, dark eyes darker with lust. She looks like some kind of predator, Aoi realizes. The thought doesn’t slam into her like a truck or anything— it’s just that Aoi suddenly understands that perhaps Mukuro is projecting a little bit, and that doesn’t necessarily make her feel any better. 

But Mukuro doesn’t let her have space to think. She kisses Aoi again and devours her with it, slips her hand between Aoi’s legs, hisses _fucking hell_ when she feels just how wet Aoi is against her fingers. 

“You’re a virgin, aren’t you,” Mukuro whispers, and Aoi nods. “ _Fuck._ ” Mukuro trembles. She licks her lower lip. 

“Maybe-”

Before she says anything else, Mukuro shakes her head. Aoi has no _idea_ what the fuck she’s even talking about. Not like she has a chance to ask, though, because Mukuro shoves her fingers forward and moans at how wet Aoi is again, curls one finger against the front of her and pushes, makes Aoi see stars; there’s the wet slap of Mukuro’s palm against Aoi’s cunt and Mukuro fucks with strong strokes of her arm, and here’s the thing: Aoi thinks she’s going to die when she feels the first orgasm creeping up on her. It’s an electric pleasure between her legs. It’s a tension in her thighs. It’s the way her hips jerk, one-two-three, the way she clamps around Mukuro, the way her toes curl, her back arches, her eyes roll back.

Mukuro is greedy with her, that first time; she fucks Aoi with her fingers, she bends to tongue her clit, she rides Aoi’s face until they’ve _both_ hit that peak (except she covers Aoi’s eyes when she rides her). 

The memory that sticks the most is Mukuro’s fingers scissoring inside of her, spreading her wide, the keen determination of Mukuro’s brow when she pushes Aoi to yet _another_ fucking orgasm, then the eager hiss of _come on, Asahina, give me what I want._

And that’s how Aoi’s first time goes. It ends with her naked on her couch in her dorm, her head back, her thighs still twitching when Mukuro stands and dusts herself off and slaps Aoi on her thigh. 

“Good girl,” Mukuro says. 

“My good girl.” 

Then Mukuro’s gone, slamming the door behind her. 

Aoi picks herself up, runs her fingers through her hair, can barely walk. The empty, strange, feeling doesn’t hit her until the next morning, when she wakes up alone. She swallows. 

_That_ doesn’t feel too fucking nice. 

( She doesn’t look at the bitemark on Sakura’s neck when Sakura says good morning to her, doesn’t feel a tinge of shame when Kenichirou pushes his face into Sakura’s shoulder, doesn’t dig up Mukuro’s number and text her and tell her she had a great time, when can they meet again. ) 

********

The second time they fuck, Aoi discovers something about herself. 

Mukuro has her pinned to her mattress. Aoi’s leg is hiked around Mukuro’s waist and Mukuro’s pistoning her fingers in and out and thumbing Aoi’s clit, letting Aoi’s hip roll up but refusing to let her get off, not yet, _not yet, Aoi, fuck, look at me, look at me._ Mukuro turns her head to bite, buries her teeth into Aoi’s leg, groans when she bites, groans at the way Aoi twitches up. 

Aoi, for a moment, hopes Mukuro didn’t feel what the bite did to her, but Mukuro’s eyes burn, and she licks along the bitemark, trembles. 

“I felt that,” Mukuro whispers. Aoi’s face burns. 

“Mukuro-”

“Shut up,” Mukuro hisses, and she bites again, and Aoi arches, tightens, soaks Mukuro’s hand. A third finger works into her. It’s almost _painful_ , the way Mukuro fucks her, and that’s what it is, it’s fucking, it can’t be anything else when Mukuro practically savages her below the waist, leaves Aoi covered in bitemarks, leaves Aoi dripping down her thighs. 

“I’ve wanted to do this for _years_ , Aoi,” Mukuro growls, curling her fingers as best she can even though Aoi is stuffed full with three, “years.” 

Aoi wants to ask her why she didn’t try sooner, but Mukuro doesn’t let her, again. Mukuro doesn’t like it when she talks during, Aoi realizes. But, again, there’s no time to think that over. There’s only Mukuro’s fingers. Only Mukuro’s ragged, hungry breathing. Only Mukuro. Only Mukuro. 

_Say my name, Aoi, say it, say it-_

And Aoi does. She _wails_ it when Mukuro _rams_ Aoi through an orgasm that nearly knocks her out. 

Mukuro shudders. Shakes. Pants. She twitches her hips forward, grinds into Aoi’s ass. 

“Say it again.”

“M-Mukuro.” 

There’s something in Mukuro’s eyes. It’s satisfaction, but deeper. Fuller, almost. Aoi looks into Mukuro’s eyes and sees _something_ she cannot place. One strong hand spreads along the small of Aoi’s back and props up her hips. Mukuro’s tongue pushes against her upper lip. 

“And I’m the only one who’s ever fucked you.”

“Yes, Mukuro. It’s only you!”

Aoi tries to _understand_ why this matters. She searches Mukuro’s distant gaze for some inkling of the _truth_ , but - 

“... good.” Mukuro slaps her on the hip. 

******

They don’t fuck again for weeks. 

But the next time, Mukuro brings a strap-on, and she pushes it between Aoi’s lips, hands in Aoi’s hair. Aoi can’t fucking breathe with that thing in her mouth, but Mukuro teaches her slowly— _fuck, that’s right, you wouldn’t even know how to suck cock, would you? Look at me, Aoi, do you know how many people would kill to see you like this_ \-- until she doesn’t, until she’s not slow, until she’s jackhammering her hips into Aoi’s face and making Aoi gag, making her back arch and Aoi sees the scars along Mukuro’s body because this is the first time she’s seen Mukuro without clothes on and Mukuro is making her pay for it. 

She won’t be able to fucking _talk_ in the morning, Aoi knows, because her throat _hurts._ It’s sore and abused and there’s tears in her eyes, smearing against Mukuro’s hip but this time when Mukuro finishes she _snarls_ and scrabbles at Aoi’s hair and she has her orgasm with Aoi’s name choking from her lips, getting off from just the sight, the sound. 

Aoi’s back arches. She coughs. Her eyes water. 

Mukuro looks at her — 

— Aoi swipes a hand over her lips and Mukuro twists her head aside and there’s something in the clench of her jaw, something in the sudden— 

— what is that, _disgust_ in her eyes? Mukuro’s chest rises. Falls. 

“Get out,” she says, “get out!” 

Of _course_ Aoi gets out and when she’s back in her own room she throws her phone into a corner and curls up in her bed and _cries_ , because this isn’t what she wanted. She didn’t want to be alone, of course, but this isn’t what she wanted _either._

Sakura sees how miserable she is. 

This is how Sakura finds out about Mukuro: 

Aoi, still hoarse from what Mukuro did to her throat, skips strength training and so of _course_ Sakura wants to find her and talk to her, because Aoi _doesn’t do that._

“Asahina,” Sakura says, and her voice is so soft, so stern and devoted and Aoi’s chest clenches. She immediately feels like she’s going to vomit. _Please don’t._

“Asahina. What’s wrong-”

“-nothing,” but the tone of voice, the fact that she sounds like a dying frog? No, no, Sakura isn’t fucking fooled. Sakura puts a hand on Aoi’s shoulder. 

They sit on the couch where Mukuro deflowered her and Aoi sweeps a hand over her eyes. 

“Sakura, it’s a — it’s complicated,” like it matters. Sakura has always been her friend, but this is something else, because Aoi had always talked about romance, and Sakura knows that she’d had plans- 

“It’s complicated,” Aoi settles. 

“And?” 

God _damn her._ Sakura is a good fucking person, and Aoi feels so _guilty_ for imagining how those arms would feel around her. 

“... I’ve… “

Here’s the thing: Aoi doesn’t intend to tell Sakura like this, but she does. She just says “I fucked on the couch, Sakura,” and Sakura stands up with alarm, glancing down at red-and-black-and-white upholstery. 

“On the couch? Aoi-” 

“Don’t be mad, okay, don’t — yes, I fucked on the couch,” and it’s not roses, it’s not anything meaningful, it’s- “I fucked Mukuro on the couch, okay, please-”

Sakura takes a deep breath, but there’s the other thing. Aoi sees the tension in her shoulders. She sees the furrow of Sakura’s brows. Sakura takes Aoi’s head in her hands and kneels to look her in the eyes and Aoi has thought so many times about kissing her, god, just like this. 

“Mukuro? Aoi, did she— is she the reason you feel bad?” 

“I just. She got rough, and she kicked me out-”

Sakura takes _another_ deep breath. Aoi can tell that her good friend Sakura wants nothing more than to find Mukuro and wring her neck. But Sakura is a good friend, and so instead, she curls Aoi against her body and settles in with her. 

“I’m sorry,” Sakura says. 

“You didn’t-”

“I’m still sorry. You deserve much better than that.” 

Aoi feels the words on her lips: _what do I deserve,_ but she’s not going to say them, because Sakura would never cheat, Sakura would never stray. It wouldn’t make her _Sakura_ if she did so. Sakura’s got honor. Aoi has to bite back a hoarse noise of despair. 

“I’ll say you’re sick. Take a few days off, Aoi.”

 _She’s such a good person. She’s such a fucking good person._ Aoi just holds on to her. She can be greedy. This once, she can be greedy, and she can hold on.


End file.
